The Man With the Long Scarf
by Adam Randall
Summary: Although many strangers came to Walton's Mountain, none were quite so strange as the man with the long scarf who called himself 'The Doctor'.


**The Man With the Long Scarf**

Storyline ©Adam Randall  
John-Boy Walton ©Earl Hamner  
The Doctor and the TARDIS ©BBC

When I tell people that I grew up on Walton's Mountain, they often respond by saying that I must have had very limited exposure to the outside world. This wasn't the case. I was lucky enough to meet people from all corners of the world – and once, I met an interesting individual who almost seemed to be out of this world...

Finally some time to write. John-Boy Walton made his way up to the isolated cabin he liked to use to get away from his family. Last time he'd tried to do this there'd been a terrible storm and he'd ended up having to the deliver the baby of one of his closest friends. Thankfully, the weather on this particular day was much better.

The sun shone down on the grassy meadows as the wind rustled the leaves on the nearby trees and the birds tweeted their beautiful songs. Days like today made him want to write all the more. This old mountain was a beautiful place and he wanted to capture in words just exactly how it felt so that the experience of living there could be preserved forever.

Out here, he wasn't likely to see another soul. Other than his footsteps through the long grass, he wasn't likely to hear anything outside of the music of nature. So it seemed awfully strange when the sound of an ominous mechanical groaning started to grow louder and louder.

He stopped walking for a second as he tried to figure out just what exactly this noise was. It reached a shocking finale with the loud sound of an explosion. Birds flew off in all directions and John-Boy's eyes widened as he scrambled over the hill to see what it had been. He soon noticed the smell of smoke and couldn't help but worry about wildfires.

As he got to the other side, he could see a strange blue cabinet lying on its side with black smoke billowing from the inside. A tall man with a mess of curly brown hair was leaning on it and looking like he was struggling to stay upright.

"You alright, mister?" asked John-Boy as he hurried down the hill towards him.

"Ah, my dear fellow," he said in the strongest English accent John-Boy had ever heard and suddenly seeming full of energy. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but would you care dreadfully if I were to fall unconscious into your arms?"

"Well, I don't reckon I could hold it against you," he said – it was such a strange question, that the only response he could think of was to answer it completely seriously.

"How wonderfully kind of you," he said, before offering a big, toothy grin.

There was a pause of several seconds, then he cried out in pain and fell unconscious into John-Boy's arms.

He was heavy and, for a second, John-Boy thought that they were both going to crash to the ground, but he managed to steady himself. The man had a curious smell, like tea and old books and on closer inspection he realised he was wearing a rather strange oufit too. A long brown frock coat which must have been at least fifty years old and an excessively long knitted scarf which couldn't ever be practical.

"Oh, Lord," he said out loud with a sigh. It looked like he was going end up playing the part of the nurse again. Just once, he'd like to be able to have a writing retreat without having some emergency on his hands.

Thankfully, John-Boy hadn't been too far away from the cabin and he had managed to drag the mysterious stranger in there and get him tucked up in bed (his long scarf and coat hanging at the door) within a few minutes.

However, he wasn't exactly at ease. The man was very pale and had gone very quiet. He decided to brew some tea as he waited for him to regain consciousness. As much as he hated the stress of the situation, he had to admit that he was pretty curious about the man. What was he doing on Walton's Mountain? What was that weird cabinet? He'd seen the words 'Police' on it... And just what had happened to him?

Just as his tea was about ready to be poured, he heard that the man had regained consciousness – but he hadn't regained his senses. He was calling for people who weren't there.

"Leela... Leela!" he moaned. "K9! Harry! Brigadier! SARAH JANE!"

There was a distinct emphasis on that last name.

"Sarah Jane?" repeated John-Boy, hoping he had finally gotten somewhere with him. "You mean, Sarah Jane Simmons? Do you know Sarah?"

"No," he said, his lucidity returning. "Sarah Jane Smith. She's my best friend."

"Oh," said John-Boy.

The two sat in silence for a few moments. John-Boy was hoping this man would offer some more information about himself, but he seemed content to lie there as if this were the most normal situation in the world.

"Are you feeling any better?" asked John-Boy, feeling this would be a reasonable thing to ask.

"Oh, yes, much better," he said and grinned. "The free radicals and tannin in that tea made it ideal for healing the synapses. I am very much in your debt. You may well have helped me avoid a premature regeneration crisis."

John-Boy laughed sheepishly. "Well, I don't know what a regeneration crisis is, but it was the least I could do, really. I didn't even give you any tea yet so I don't know if that can really be it."

"Ah!" he said, loudly. "But it is. The tea vapours in the air were all I needed."

"I'm just glad I could help," he said, not yet sure how it had made a difference. "I, er, didn't catch your name."

"That's because I didn't offer it," he said, not unkindly. "You must have more faith in your faculty for listening to others. You're really rather good at it. But to save you from asking, I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor who?" asked John-Boy.

"No. Just the Doctor," he said. "And what may I ask is your name?"

"I'm John Walton Junior," he said, before adding. "Or John-Boy. That's what they call me back home."

"Extraorindary," the Doctor said, in almost a whisper. "This wouldn't happen to Virginia in the 1930s, would it?"

"Well, I reckon it is!" said John-Boy and laughed. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Oh, yes, yes. Quite alright. It's always a good idea to ask somebody for the date and to tell you where they are. It can help you check whether they have a concussion."

"But you're the one who was hurt!"

"So I was," replied the Doctor, a shadow of concern passing over his face. "Still, not to worry!" he said, all concern disappearing. "I must be off now – but thank you ever so much for your help. Do stick with your writing. I'm sure you'll achieve great things. Great things!"

"I didn't even tell you I was a writer!" protested John-Boy – this stranger was growing more mysterious by the second and he wasn't sure if he was fascinated or frustrated.

"No, no, you didn't," he said, nodding quickly. "Before I go..."

"What is it?"

The Doctor held out his hand ror a handshake. In spite of himself, John-Boy thought that his hand was glowing.

"Is your hand glowing?" he asked, almost embarrassed to have acknowledged it.

"Why, yes, it is! These keen observational skills will certainly help you as a writer. I'm just transfering a slight build up of excess regeneration energy. A slight accident with the temporal winds left me in quite state, but thanks to you I'm not going to need it now. But, I fear, perhaps, you will one day. Ah!" He let go of John-Boy's hand suddenly, as if it were red hot. "Sorry – I accidentally took a little of your biometric imprint. Not that it matters. It just means my next self might bear a passing resemblance to you. I suppose you're not a bad looking chap."

"Doctor, I didn't understand a word you just said," said John-Boy.

"Funny. People seem to say that a lot. Perhaps I mumble. No. Never mind. In layman's terms, you should be able to undergo a partial regeneration in the event of any life-threatening experiences. Just once, of course. And even then, it will probably revert you to your original form after twenty or thirty years. But, don't worry, you'll omit a natural perception filter so nobody will notice the difference."

"You're crazy, you know that?" said John-Boy, utterly baffled.

"Oh, yes," he said and grinned that toothy grin again, putting his scarf and coat back on in the process, "but thank you for the reminder. Bye bye!"

Before waiting for John-Boy to respond, he quickly opened the door, slipped out and slammed it shut behind him. And with that, he was gone. John-Boy tried to process what had just happened, but could make neither head nor tail of the situation. His father once told him that life was a mystery – it was only now that he realised how big that mystery could be!

Though I would meet many interesting and unusual people in my life, I can think as none so strange as the man with the long scarf who I met up at that cabin all those years ago...


End file.
